


Dark Paradise

by PropShopHannah



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flash fan fiction, Nessain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-27 08:03:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9984347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PropShopHannah/pseuds/PropShopHannah
Summary: Cassian can't accept the mating bond between him and Nesta. How could he without his wings? He's ashamed and disgusted and utterly useless. She deserves so much better than him. She deserves an eternity with a male who can make her proud, who can protect her—not him. He loves her too much to drag her down with him. And so he has to let her go. Has to try to let her go. Even though all Nesta wants is him.This fic was inspired by a photo of Lana Del Rey that popped up on my tumblr dash. Hence the name and all the angst. Each section has an accompanying picture. Find the first one here: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157627191198/cassian-nesta-said-shut-up-she-crossed-the





	1. Chapter 1

“Cassian,” Nesta said, “shut up.“ She crossed the room to him. They’d just walked back to her tiny apartment after Starfall. 

“ _ Nesta, _ ” Cassian sighed, lowering his chin to his chest. “I don’t want to have this conversation.” He stepped back toward the door.

“I don’t care,” she said. She crossed the room to him. He backed up again.

“Well I do—”

“Why?” she yelled. “Why do you care so much about your stupid wings? So they’re gone! Who cares? It doesn’t matter. You’re. Still. Here. Cassian.  _ You’re still here _ .”

He backed up until his heel hit the door. All he’d have to do was turn around, then he could go.

Nesta put her hands on his face, lifting it until their eyes met. Hers were glossy with unshed tears—he had done that. He should go.

“Stay,” she whispered. “Please stay.”

“I can’t,” he said. And he hated the words. Hated how his voice broke, how those tears finally slipped from her eyes.

“You lost your wings saving your best friend,” Nesta said with quiet courage. “Trying to save me. But you are not your wings, Cassian. You never were. They just happened to be something you had.” He wrapped his hands around her wrists. “And I know it hurts not having that piece anymore, that identity, but I’m your  _ mate _ ”—her voice broke—“and you have  _ me _ . And we can figure it out together. Please, Cassian— _ please.  _ Accept the bond, accept me.”

Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the red cosmetic on her lips, pooling in the corners of her beautiful mouth. She’d picked the shade to match his siphons. There was once a time when he would have given anything to kiss her mouth, to be the one to wipe those tears away, but now—

Cassian pulled her hands from his face. Nesta shut her eyes in anger and sadness. “I’m sorry,” Cassian whispered. “You deserve so much more.”

A shuddering, heartbreaking sob broke from Nesta’s throat as he opened the door and walked out. He hated to leave her like this, hated to leave her at all, but… He couldn’t stay. He didn’t deserve her, and she deserved better than him.

And so he left. Without even a look back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your soul is hunting me and telling me, that everything is fine, but I wish I was dead”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original post of this has an accompanying picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157794560228/nesta-could-feel-the-grey-light-of-dawn-pressing

Nesta could feel the grey light of dawn pressing against her eyelids, but she refused to open them. Last night had not been what she’d imagined. It had not been what she’d dreamt of or longed for…

But it had been perfect nonetheless.

She’d been sad and angry again, and Cassian had stayed with her, had walked her home after the meeting. He’d not gone to many meetings in the year since the war’s end, and they’d not spoken much in the months since Starfall—when he’d left her, crying and alone and hollow in the entryway of her small apartment.

But yesterday had been the anniversary of her mother’s death. A date Feyre was too young to recall, a date Elain was too medial to look back on, a date Nesta was too old to forget.

So Nesta remembered. Because Nesta always remembered. Because Nesta remembered everything even if she wanted to forget.

Because someone had to remember.

She’d needed him last night—needed him to be with her, stay with her. And so she’d made sure he’d had enough alcohol at dinner, made sure she had, too. She knew it’d been devious and conniving and desperate—especially since he’d spent a good part of the last year buried at the bottom of a bottle.

But then he’d remembered.

On the walk home, he’d told her he remembered what day it was and why she was sad and angry, and she had not expected that. Nesta had not expected her mate—the male who would not accept the bond between them because he thought himself lamed and inferior and disgraceful without his wings—to remember what she’d once told him in a mansion room, over a book on military strategy, when she’d been human and he’d still had his wings. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Nesta stretched out an arm to feel the mattress cold beside her. She knew he’d left in the middle of the night. She knew even before she’d manipulated him into her bed that he would not be there when she woke up.

She buried her face in the pillow, pulling her arms tightly around her. She curled her knees to her chest and felt a soreness between her legs.

She didn’t want to think about the small amount of blood that now stained the sheets. That had stained them both when she’d let him inside her. Didn’t want to think about the look on his face when they felt her maidenhead yield to him and the scent of her blood had hit the air.

He had not been gentle. And she had not wanted him to be.

He had not been rough either. But maybe she had wanted him to be.

Because there was a bond between them, an eternity before them, and Cassian ignored both. Nesta had felt that bond more strongly last night than she ever had before. And she knew he had, too. She’d seen it on his face. And she’d tried to look away, tried not to look for what she so desperately wanted to find in his eyes because she’d known the odds of seeing it were not in her favor… 

But when he’d moved inside her, when pain and pleasure had become the same thing, she’d looked for what she knew she’d not find. And it’s absence was unbearable.

His absence was unbearable.

Still unbearable.

Nesta curled into a ball in the empty bed and felt nothing. She was empty and hollow and worthless, and she felt absolutely nothing at all.

There was blood in the bed, blood in the water, and she had no one else to blame but herself. No one else to hate but herself. 

And so she did.

And so she wept.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The accompanying photo can be found here: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157836142453/cassians-breath-blew-out-in-a-white-cloud-in

Cassian’s breath blew out in a white cloud in front of him. He’d been walking around for hours, _hours_. He knew it was freezing, knew winter was on it’s way, yet he didn’t feel anything. Not the cold, not the hoarfrost on his jacket—nothing. The early morning sky was still black and filled with stars in every direction. Beautiful and untouchable. Like her— _no_ , not like her.

He hated himself.

What had he done? _What_ had he done?

He’d told himself he’d only go to the meeting to see how she was doing. They’d all had dinner as a group, and maybe it had been the alcohol, or the scent of her sadness so palpable in the air around her—but he’d walked her home.

And with the alcohol thinning the walls between them, thinning the walls she kept between her and the world, he’d thought she’d never looked more beautiful.

Heartbreakingly so, with her sadness and her anger.

He’d remembered even before he’d agreed to meet everyone for dinner that it was her mother’s death day. That it would be hard for her as it always was. But then she’d tripped on the sidewalk, stumbled up the landing to her building… she’d asked him up, and he’d not thought twice about making sure she got to her door safely.

But he’d not stopped at the door. Had not stopped at the coffee he’d insisted on making because— _fuck_ —he couldn’t let her offer him anything. Couldn’t let her get her hopes up about him accepting the bond. He could not and would not.

And he’d not stopped when her sadness and anger had taken form and kissed him. Had not stopped when she’d climbed into his lap and his hands had found the smooth lily-white skin on her waist.

She’d tangled her hands in his hair, and he’d been so overcome with the scent of her need that he’d finally succumb to his own need to claim her. So he had.

He’d fucked her, and he had not been gentle.

He had not been rough either… but he had not been gentle.

And he hated himself for it.

Hated himself because he used to think that if she ever honored him with that part of her, he’d take his time. Go slow, be careful. He must have thought about what it would be like to bed Nesta Archeron a thousand fucking times, a thousand fucking ways, and when he’d finally gotten the chance…

He’d fucked her, and she’d bled. And he’d hurt her, and he’d told himself to stay silent, that eventually her pain would pass and then it would be over. She would be out of his system, and he could finally be done with her. Finally let her go.

But the scent of her blood in the air, the warmth of it as it trickled from her and stained them both…

He’d spilt enough blood in his lifetime. Let hers be the last.

Cassian found himself on the outskirts of Velaris, in a small park near the beach. He sat on a cold bench and buried his face in his hands.

Shame, he felt shame. He felt ashamed.

Ashamed for what he’d put her through the past year. Ashamed for what he’d done to her earlier that night. Ashamed because even though he could see the pain on her face, feel it in her kiss and in the tightness and stiffness of her body beneath him as he’d moved inside her—she’d not once asked him to slow down, to stop, or to show her a shred of kindness or decency that she, more than anyone, deserved.

She’d accepted the pain, braced herself for it.

 _And that,_ Cassian thought, _was the worst part of all_.

Because even though they could both feel that bond between them, the people they had been when it had snapped into place—in an ugly stone throne-room in a Hybern castle—were gone. He had broken them.

Cassian had broken them. And he had no one to blame but himself.

He’d left Nesta naked and sleeping and with her back to him, in a moonlit room atop crisp, white bed sheets stained with bright red blood. The same blood that had dried on the lily-white skin between her thighs, that had dried on him.

He’d not washed her off him. Had not wanted to wake her because he was a coward, a thief in the night.

There was blood in the bed, blood on his hands, and he had no one to hate or blame but himself.

He choked on a sob. His hot breath formed a white cloud in front of him. He didn’t know how to fix this because he didn’t know how to fix himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Accompanying gif: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157839235278/nesta-archeron-i-would-like-to-take-you-to-bed

“Nesta Archeron, I would like to take you to bed,” Tarquin said.

“You know I have a mate.”

“Yes, I know. And where is he now?” He stroked a dark knuckle down Nesta’s cheek. “You’ve been in my court for three months now. You’ve mentioned him once and that was it. He hasn’t yet come looking for you.”

Nesta closed her eyes, then opened them to stare at the dark water below, sparkling with the lights from the pleasure barge. They stood on the back end of the boat. It was warm and balmy, but a slight breeze kept them cool.

She had no idea where Cassian was. What he was doing. The last time she’d seen him was that night in Velaris, on her mother’s death day when…

She didn’t want to think about what it’d felt like to share her body with her mate. To share his body. Didn’t want to think about how long she’d laid in an empty bed knowing he wasn’t coming back.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” Tarquin said quietly.

Nesta shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know what I want,” she lied. Nesta knew exactly what she wanted. It was hundreds of miles away probably drowning at the bottom of another bottle. And who was she to judge? She’d left soon after they’d slept together and fled to the only court she knew he couldn’t get into. Told them all it was to avoid the harsh winter of Velaris. But really she was hiding from him, from what they should have been, but never would be.

She was a coward.

And she was lonely. So unbearably lonely.

She turned to Tarquin. His blue eyes swam like ocean waves. “I can’t offer you anything more.”

He smiled and stroked his knuckle down along her cheek again. She leaned into the touch. “I know,” he said gently. “I’m not asking for anything more. I’m just asking for tonight.”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157876228458/cassian-held-the-diary-like-a-prayer-the-script

Cassian held the diary like a prayer. The script within, the words, a window into the soul of the only mother he’d ever known. He wept.

He’d asked Rhys why he’d given him his mother’s diary. Rhys had only said it was a loan, and that Feyre had marked a page she’d thought he should read.

And so he had.

And so now he sat in all of his sadness and darkness, tears of rage and loathing silently streaming down his face.

_“Cassian is my second son, a true brother to Rhys. He is bright and brave and pure of heart. There is no doubt in my mind that he would not lay down his life for those he loves._

_Today we practiced flying. Cassian asked why I still had my wings when the other females did not. And so I told him the story of how I met Rhys’s father. When we got home, and Rhys was out of the room, Cassian gave me a hug and said, ‘Even if you did not have your wings, I would still love you. I would not see you as anything less than who you are now, and I would protect you still.’_

_My heart broke for him, and I almost cried—but didn’t._

_Instead I told him how much I loved him, told him how special and worthy of love he was. And that I, too, would never stop loving him. Even if he found himself unable to fly one day, he would be no less the brave, bright, pure hearted youngling I’ve come to love as a son.”_

Cassian was not sure how long he’d cried. Not sure how long he’d beat his fists into the stone walls of his apartment. And he was not sure how long he’d run around Velaris trying to catch a whiff of Nesta’s scent—he had no idea she’d left. Had no idea for how many months she’d not been living in the city.

His mate. _His_ mate—what had he done?

He’d pushed her away. Told her he didn’t want her— _Fuck_.

“Open the damned door, Amren,” he roared several hours later. Then when she didn’t, he added, “please.”

The door swung open, and he wasted no time demanding—pleading—to know where Nesta, his mate, had gone.

Amren only glared at him, as if she might actually be able to slice him open with her eyes.

“Please, _please_ ,” he begged. He’d all but prostrated himself on the ground in front of her.

“Are you good now?”

They both knew what she meant. He said, “Yes.”

“No more booze,” she said. He agreed. “No more skipping meetings to wallow in your own emotional filth and pity.” He nodded. “The next time I see you, you better have your siphons on.” He nodded again. “And if I ever see you without them again, Cassian, I will make it so you lack the ability to wear them ever again. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“What did you lose?”

“My mate.”

And from the look that flashed across Amren’s face, Cassian was sure she’d not expected him to answer that way, and he was sure he’d passed her test.

Amren turned, walking into her apartment. He followed, closing the door. She grabbed a piece of paper with a Night Court seal across the top and turned to him.

“You’re gonna need to write a letter.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157879441228/seven-minutes-ago-tarquin-had-asked-nesta-to

Seven minutes ago, Tarquin had asked Nesta to dance. They were on the pleasure barge, drifting just off the coast. It was nighttime, and other than the moon and stars, the only lights were that of the many strings of bobbing faelight illuminating the rails and masts of the ship.

Three minutes ago, Tarquin had told her about a peculiar request letter he’d received last month. One minute ago, a scent that was masculine and earthy and utterly intoxicating hit Nesta so strong she nearly panicked.

Thirty seconds later, Cassian had appeared and asked Nesta to dance.

She stared at him, frozen. He wasn’t supposed to be here. Wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near her.

“Nesta?” Tarquin said. Her eyes snapped to him. Her hand was still on his shoulder. “We’re only a quarter mile from shore.” He winked and walked away.

Nesta stared after him. At nothing—at everything. The room was too small.

Cassian moved into her eyeline. “Nesta—”

“Don’t,” she hissed, stepping back. There were too many eyes and ears on the dance floor. She turned and made her way to the lowest level of the ship. She found the stern. It was quieter, more private.

Cassian followed.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Nothing but the silence that lived between them. The skirts of her dress whispered around her legs in the balmy breeze. She thought it felt like white-linen bedsheets stained in blood and tears, and wrapped around the finally broken body of a female who’d wished for mortality so that her pain might sooner be eased.

Cold, she felt cold.

“You smell like the Summer Court—”

“Fuck you,” Nesta said.

Cassian put his hands up slightly. “I didn’t mean it that way. And if… you’re free to love whomever you want.” His voice was sad, understanding.

She didn’t need him to tell her that. “Why are you here?”

“To tell you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for how I acted, for what I did to us, to you. I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m trying to do better. I’m doing better.”

She noticed then that he was clean. That the suit he wore was pressed and new and expensive, his shoes glossy. He’d shaved and his hair had been cut. Not a whiff of alcohol—his wings, what was left of them, were bound tightly together.

They looked the same as they had the last time she’d seen them. When she had not dared touch them for fear of hurting him. She wondered if they hurt him now. Wondered if he was using something other than alcohol to deal with the constant pain and infections they were prone to. There was so little left of his wings. The right side was mostly skeletal, but the left side… The third finger was less than half it’s original size, it was the longest one left, and it didn’t even reach his waist. Not anymore. She thought maybe one of the claws, the left one, looked swollen, puffy.

He noticed her eyes and said, “I’m learning to deal with it, the pain. I’ve been talk—”

“ _You left_ ,” she said violently, painfully.

“I know.”

“You _left_ me—broken and bleeding and you left. You didn’t care. You stopped caring, Cassian. I was staring down an eternity I didn’t ask for and you were my mate and _you left_. You stopped trying. You said you would protect me, my people, my family. And then you just gave up. You gave”—her voice cracked—“up.”

“I’m sorry, Nesta—”

“You’re sorry?” She didn’t notice the tears of rage slipping down her face. “ _HOW DARE YOU._ You don’t get to come here and tell me you’re sorry. You don’t get to walk back into my life like it’s some grand gesture and—and for what? What did you think would happen? That you’d show up sober and bathed and say sorry, and I would forgive you? That I would _believe_ you?”

Cassian merely stood there. A look of understanding and sorrow on his face.

“This isn’t a storybook, Cassian. This is real. And it bleeds and hurts and it doesn’t stop at happily ever after—we have to live, we still have to live. And you stopped trying. Cassian. You stopped trying, and when I tried to help, you pushed me away. You—”

 _You didn’t want me,_ Nesta wanted to say. _You didn’t want me because no one ever wants me. Everyone always leaves me, and no one stays. But you were supposed to stay. You promised to stay._

Nesta wiped her face. “You don’t get to decide when, and if, you can be a part of my life, Cassian. Not anymore.”

Cassian stood there, nodding. His head was downcast, his shoulders curved. He opened his mouth to speak, but—

Nesta vanished. She’d realized the moment they’d reached the stern why Tarquin had told her they were sailing only a quarter mile from shore. That was the farthest she could winnow.

She landed in knee deep water. The small waves of the lagoon ebbed and flowed around her, pulling the pale purple of her gown back and forth.

She looked at the barge. At Cassian, standing at the stern. Unable to winnow. Unable to fly.

She would go. Tomorrow she would go. So she looked at him, one last time, before she turned her back and walked onto the beach.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157916476903/cassian-sat-on-a-pale-bed-in-a-pale-room-wearing

Cassian sat on a pale bed, in a pale room, wearing only a pair of pale sleeping-pants. He took a deep, heavy breath.

The room was empty. A mirror was propped against the wall across from him, but he didn’t need it. He looked over his shoulder.

He stroked a finger over the claw at the apex of his right wing. Both of his wings were unbound. Both ached painfully.

He wiggled the claw of his right wing and curled it lovingly around his fingers. He could still feel this one, still move it.

“We had a good run didn’t we boys? A good life.” He held his breath to keep from crying. His chin trembled. He could do this. He had to do this. It was time.

He turned his head as far as he could and pulled the claw forward. He rubbed the smooth, hooked nail over the skin of his cheek. He savored the feel of it, trying to commit it to memory.

He kissed it.

And felt like a fool. Felt like a fool as he craned his neck and kissed the other claw, too, because they weren’t people, they were things—appendages. They didn’t have feelings or thoughts… but they were part of him. They were _a_ part of him. And he’d never been apart from them.

They were old friends. They were _his_ friends, and they’d never let him down.

They hadn’t let Az down either. _It wasn’t such a bad way to end,_ he thought. For them to be shredded in battle, protecting his brother. Worse things had happened to better people. And Azriel had lived. And Azriel would continue to live when Cassian’s wings could not. He was learning to accept that. To make peace with that. But—

He swallowed hard. He was scared. Cassian was scared of living a life without them—his wings. But it was time.

He looked at himself in the mirror. Looked at what was left of his old friends.

 _Beautiful,_ he thought. _They’re still beautiful._

He downed both of the tonics sitting on a low table next to the bed. He looked at himself in the mirror one last time and said, “I’m sorry it had to end this way.”

Then he laid on the bed, flat on his stomach. He turned his head and curled the right claw of his right wing over his right hand for the last time.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I’m going to miss you,” he said.

Cassian was still holding his right claw when he was swept into a heavy, dreamless sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157918714213/when-cassian-woke-up-he-was-lying-on-his-back

When Cassian woke up, he was lying on his back. His upper arms were bound tightly to his sides, completely immobile from the elbow up.

“How are you feeling?” Azriel said.

“Like I’m flying high.” Azriel frowned and crossed his arms. But Cassian just stared, transfixed, by the blue of his siphons as they pulsed and swirled and left a stream of sparkling blue across the air like a shooting star across the sky. After a moment, Cassian said, “Come on. That’s funny.”

“It’s self-deprecating.”

“If we can’t laugh at my pain, then what else do you suggest we _do_ at it?” Azriel’s throat bobbed as he pushed off the wall to stand at the foot of the bed. His shadows wafted and ebbed and flowed and grew and shrunk and looked like the delicate tendrils of Nesta’s hair and—

It was official, Cassian had never been this high before. Well, not legally. And not since he, Rhys, and Azriel had lived under Rhys’s mom’s roof.

“Here, you try,” Cassian said, clearing his throat. “Azriel, how are you feeling?” Azriel took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling as if beseeching it for patience. Cassian flourished his hand and said, “This is the part where you say ‘dark and icy and like I’ve been living in the shadows my entire life’ or something.”

A small smile quirked Azriel’s lips. “What on earth did they give you?”

“Some good shit,” Cassian said, snorting. Then he froze, eyes wide. “Tiny Ancient One”—he tried to point but could only lift the lower part of his arm—“Can you see her?”

Azriel didn’t need to look to know Amren had just winnowed in. But for Cassian’s sake, he glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, I can see her.” Cassian smiled as Amren walked forward.

She perched atop a stool near his bed. “Happy to see me?”

“Always,” Cassian said, winking. Amren exchanged a look with Azriel. “Did you know I’m not allowed to move my upper arms for two weeks?” Cassian babbled. Amren nodded. “But I really have to take a piss. And I was going to ask Az to help me, but I know how much you love Illyrian c—”

“ _Cassian_ ,” Azriel barked. Cassian grinned. Amren did, too.

“If Cassian’s already trying to get Amren to touch his special place, then he must be fine,” Rhys said, strolling into the room. “Hello, Cassian.”

“Hello, Rhys. You’re very shiny today.”

Rhys smiled like he was trying not to laugh and said, “Then I better steer clear of Amren.”

“I like it when you look fancy for me brother,” Cassian said. “Are you and Azriel excited to spend the next two weeks fighting over who gets to be my main bitch?”

“Infinitely,” Rhys said, trying to keep a straight face. But Cassian thought he saw a shred of sadness behind his brother’s eyes. He thought he saw a shred of sadness behind all of their eyes.

“Stop it,” Cassian said. They all looked confused. “I’m high, not stupid. I don’t have wings anymore, and you’re all thinking it. Stop, I don’t want your pity.” He looked at Azriel, who was suddenly wrapped in shadow. “And no, you’re not to blame. So send those things away,” he wiggled his fingers at the shadows. “This is about me, you prick. And they’re starting to look like Nesta’s hair. And I don’t want you cheating.”

Amren looked infinitely amused. Azriel looked guilty and confused. And Rhys looked as if he was glad someone broached the subject.

Amren cocked her head and said, “Don’t want Azriel cheating on what?”

Cassian grinned. “I don’t have a wingspan anymore, so I say we settle this the old fashion way. You get to be the judge, sweetheart. You are the most qualified when it comes to judging the size of Illyrian c—”

“ _Cassian_ ,” Azriel whined. Rhys snorted.

“Cassian, if you so much as think about showing me your cock,” Amren said, “your wings won’t be the only things you lose this day.” But she winked at him. Not because she was being funny, but because she knew he was looking for a way to talk about what he’d lost, and to let them know it was okay to mention it. Because maybe he needed to talk about it.

“Thank you,” Cassian said. He looked at his brothers, then—“Where’s _the_ Morrigan?” Amren, Rhys, and Azriel exchanged a wary look.

“Busy,” Amren said. “And don’t call her _the_ Morrigan like it’s some fancy title. It’ll go to her head.”

“Are you jealous?” Cassian purred. She rolled her eyes. Behind her, Rhys mouthed: “What did they give him?” to Azriel. Who mouthed back: “I have no idea.”

“Where is it then?” Cassian interrupted, looking at Rhys.

“Where is what?”

“The basket—or hammock?—or whatever you pricks are going to use to carry me to the House of Wind.” He wiggled his hands, making a show of the fact that his upper arms were bound to his chest. “Unless you were planning on carrying me bridal style?” He said to Rhys with a bedroom smile.

Healing battle wounds, like punctures and lacerations, was different than healing wounds created by the removal of something. Magic couldn’t force Cassian’s body to mold and fill the newly empty spots in his back. The spots where the healers had cut away the muscle and bone and cartilage that had once connected his body to his wings. His wings were gone now. They’d been fully removed.

No longer would he wake up in pain from the infections, or swelling, or spasms the shredded pieces were prone to. No longer would he get phantom chills and aches from where his mind still thought the ends of his wings were. Every piece that had once connected Cassian to his wings now sat in a sealed box by the bed.

Cassian’s body, his own healing magic, would eventually heal around the gaps, around the empty spots in him. And while it figured out how to heal, his upper body was not to move. His biceps were to remain bound to his sides until a healer gave the okay for him to start learning how to move them again. Start learning, because he’d never moved his arms, his body, without his wings before.

He wished Nesta were with him. Wished she were there holding his hand, comforting him, helping him piss and eat and bathe—not his brothers.

He’d had to start learning how to live without her, too. Had to learn to pick himself back up. And how to live as this new, wingless Cassian, before he might one day get the chance—the honor—to know what it would be like to live as her mate. If she could ever forgive him. And he supposed, the gap in his life where Nesta should be was another empty spot his body would eventually heal around.

Maybe, if he was lucky.

“We have a hammock to carry you in,” Rhys said. “But seeing as Amren has been secretly winnowing in and out of the House of Wind for centuries, we thought you might prefer if she took you.”

Cassian looked at Amren. Teeny, tiny Amren. “You would carry me?” he said.

She hopped off her stool. “It would be my honor. And seeing as it drives Azriel crazy that he can’t figure out how I get past the wards—”

“She’s a firedrake, Azriel,” Cassian said. “We all saw her during the war.” Azriel nodded as if this was news to him. It wasn’t. Cassian was just too drugged up to put that much thought past the obvious.

Amren held out her hand to him. Cassian lifted one of his as best he could. He didn’t have his siphons on.

“I broke my promise,” he said quietly.

“No,” Amren said, taking his hand. “You didn’t.”

“WAIT.” He wiggled his hands toward Azriel. “My box,” he said. Azriel moved to the small, sealed box that sat atop a table on his side of the room. He picked it up and handed it to Cassian who was still wiggling his fingers.

He clutched the box to his chest like a child might a security blanket or a much beloved toy. Amren laid her hand on his shoulder, and Cassian tried not to look at the silver lining her eyes, or at the downward tilt to the corners of her mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> picture: https://propshophannah.tumblr.com/post/157955827703/for-a-moment-nesta-thought-it-was-as-if-time-had

For a moment, Nesta thought it was as if time had stopped. The world had gone silent, still—distant. Everything was distant. Untouchable. Yet close. So close she needed to recoiled from it. Knew she had to recoil from it. Had to get her feet moving before someone saw her.

Before _he_ saw her.

But she couldn’t move, couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see anything but…

Two thick scars ran parallel down his upper back. Two thick scars atop the muscle and bone and width of him. _Him_. She couldn’t remember him. Didn’t know him because it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him. Cassian didn’t need to use the power of this siphons to propel himself backward and forward. The movement was uneven and messy and rough. So different than the beautiful, graceful, leaps and jumps Azriel was using to train the other male with…

Cassian had wings. He was hurt. They had been hurt, but they would heal, grow back. This male training with Azriel was not Cassian—couldn’t be.

Their swords met in a clash of steel atop the House of Wind. Both men were shirtless and sweating and the male who was not Cassian was smiling— _smiling_. He smiled and it reached his eyes.

Nesta blinked.

He’d left her. Cassian had left her because he didn’t want her, because no one ever wanted her. And he’d been sad—so unendingly sad. And—

She’d come here for a dinner. Nesta had come here for dinner. She’d been back in Velaris for a little over a month and she’d thought… she’d thought Mor and Elain had acted funny when she’d first returned when they’d volunteered to help her unpack. She’d thought it didn’t make and sense that Elain had wanted to know all about the gifts Lucien had been sending to the Summer Court. She’d thought it was odd because Elain and Lucien were best friends, the kind who braid each other’s hair and finish each other’s sentences, the kind who, when they weren’t visiting one another, spent obnoxious amounts of time writing to one another, there had been no reason for her to have asked Nesta what Lucien was up to, no reason for her to have not known about the gifts he’d been sending to the Summer Court— _why was there a shadow curled around Azriel’s ear?_

And then the world roared back to life.

Time and noise and feeling, and the male she didn’t recognize looked over his shoulder and the smile that reached his eyes, that smile faltered and fell and—

“No,” Nesta breathed. “No, no, no—”

She was going to be sick. Violently, violently sick.

“Nesta?” Cassian said.

She bolted. Ran as quick as lightning for the stairs. She didn’t care if there were ten thousand or ten million, she’d run them all to get away. To get out of here.

Footsteps sounded behind her.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit—_

She hurled around a corner in the House of Wind, flicking her claws out and anchoring them into the wall to help her better propel herself around the turn.

“NESTA, WAIT,” a deep male voice roared somewhere behind her.

 _Fuck._ Why was she here? Why hadn’t she stayed in the Autumn Court? She’d rather Lucien pester her for details about whether or not Tarquin had liked his gifts to this. She hurled herself around another corner—taking a chunk out of the wall—and ran right into Amren’s waiting hand.

A second later, she was standing on the beach at the outskirts of Velaris, panting. Panting and shaking and—she vomited into the sand.

“I thought that might happen,” Amren said.

Nesta retched, but nothing came up. She whirled on Amren. “Thought what would happen?” she yelled. Amren snapped her fingers and the vomit vanished. Nesta’s mouth was clean.

“That you’d run after seeing his back,” Amren said.

“How long were you all going to lie to me?” she roared. But a wedge of tears was making it’s way up her throat. She clamped her jaw shut and turned away, willing the pain down, down, down. Pushing it further and further beneath the adamant walls she envisioned around the darkest parts of her.

Ocean waves crashing on the beach was the only sound. Then Amren sat down on the sand and motioned for Nesta to sit next to her. She did.

“That’s the only time he smiles,” Amren said. “When he’s training with Az, learning how to use his magic to navigate a fight in the place of his wings. And only on the good days. But… he’s better now. Stronger. He started seeing someone—to talk about it. Learn how to deal with it.”

“Is that why…” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Amren said. “They weren’t getting any better. Healers said too much time had passed. The pain, the pieces, they were nothing but a reminder of what he’d lost.” She shrugged. “He just walked into Rhys’s house one day and told us over breakfast.”

Nesta’s breath hitched. “D-d-did anyone you know…”

Amren knocked her shoulder into Nesta’s. “Yes. Elain and Azriel cried enough for all of us. But your sister knew exactly what to say, exactly what to do.”

“Elain is good like that.”

“She is, and Cassian needed it. He acted like her doting was annoying and unnecessary, but I think he liked it. She made him a box—” Amren stopped talking and took a deep breath.

“Tell me,” Nesta said. “Tell me everything.”

So Amren did.


	10. Chapter 10

“I know you’re there,” Cassian said. He stood before a white stone monument, in the middle of a garden on the west end of Velaris atop the sea cliffs. Another smaller white stone monument sat to its right, and to the left, a modest plaque with no name, but etched with a picture of wings had been placed into the ground.

The sea breeze rustled his black hair, carrying it across his face. He took a deep breath and stilled as he heard Nesta approach. He’d seen her in the weeks since he’d chased her through the House, but he’d barely spoken to her. Barely looked at her. Most of the time, he wasn’t quite sure where she was, only that she was watching him. Sometimes he felt her when he was training with Az, sometimes he felt her when he was working with Rhys, and other times he knew she was close because he could feel that uncertain space between them. 

The want and the sadness and the anger.

Something in him ached. For her, he ached. She was so close and so far. So gods-damned far away, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Didn’t know how to get her back. How to prove that he was different now. So he’d decided to go about whatever it was he was doing when he felt her nearby—let her watch, and maybe she’d come to him. He wouldn’t chase her, wouldn’t say anything that might make her uncomfortable. Easy, he just wanted things between them to be easy.

And maybe she would see he was different. That he’d changed. That he was getting better and stronger and closer to the male she deserved. And if she didn’t—that was fine. He’d told himself that he could be fine with that if it’s what she wanted. Maybe they could be great friends like Lucien and Elain were great friends—

Cassian went perfectly still as Nesta stopped a few feet behind him. He didn’t turn around, didn’t want to scare her off.

The sky was dark, overcast.

“What is this place?” she said.

Cassian was pretty sure she knew what it was. He’d smelled her scent here a few days ago, and when he’d talked to Amren about what happened after he’d chased her through the House that day, Amren had told him what she’d told Nesta—everything.

“It’s a monument we put together after the war for Rhys’s mom and sister.” He fitted his hands in his trouser pockets, shutting out the memory of the day Feyre had winnowed to the townhouse with two display cases of wings she’d found in the Spring Court. She’d just appeared on the floor bloody and sobbing and—

“I know that,” Nesta said. “What is it to you?”

Cassian pointed to the small plaque on the ground. “Elain thought it might be a good idea to memorialize what I lost.”

“What did you lose?” she said in a voice that was all too small and all too quiet.

“You,” Cassian said. “I lost you.” And something in him lifted, eased, at the sound of the words, at knowing she’d finally heard them from him, and not from Amren or anyone else. He’d said them to her, finally said them to her, and that meant something. 

Gently— _ so very gently _ —he caressed that bond between them. It was so thin, like a single strand of a spider’s web.

“Don’t,” she said. But he thought he felt a pang of sadness, of pain, whisper down the bond like a ripple on water.

“I’m sorry,” he said. But not just about the bond—about everything. “I’m so sorry.”

A salty wind rustled through nearby trees. The sky grew darker, it would rain soon. Gravel crunched as Nesta took a small step closer.

Cassian closed his eyes for a moment as the scent of her hit him. She wasn’t quite next to him, but he could see her in his periphery, and he wanted so badly to turn and look at her. He ran his fingers over the small candy in his left trouser pocket—the one he’d been carrying around for months. The on that he’d hoped… 

“When I went to the Summer Court,” he said, “it wasn't to win you back. I wanted to apologize and explain—Nesta, I didn’t leave you. Not in the way you think I did. I just couldn’t— _ wouldn’t _ —let you try to fix me. It wasn’t your job. I needed to do it myself. I needed to find the strength to do it myself because I knew if I didn’t, then it would break us. Maybe not immediately, but some day. And I couldn’t do that to you, or to us. And I’m sorry I hurt you. I know it probably means nothing now, but I was trying to protect you… from me.”

The wind picked up as a light rain began to fall.

He thought that if she hadn’t run away yet, then she might not. So he said, “I thought that if I couldn’t pick myself back up, then I would never be worth anything to you, never be  _ worthy _ of you. But I see now that I should have told you, should have trusted you with my broken pieces. But I could only see it as a weakness,  _ another _ weakness, and I was so ashamed”—his voice cracked—“so ashamed because suddenly you were stuck with me, for eternity. And I was not the male you were promised. Not the male I was supposed to be.” He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the sky. Cold drops of rain hit his skin, hiding the few tears. Or maybe it didn’t hide them, maybe it washed them away. “You don't have to forgive me. I just needed to say it. I needed you to know.”

For a long time, the only sound was the drops of rain as they hit stone and grass and leaves, the wind as it rustled the nearby trees, and the distant crash of ocean waves on the cliffs.

When the rain began to fall in earnest, Cassian tapped one of his siphons and used his magic to form an umbrella. It glowed a soft, translucent shade of red that was webbed around the top similarly to the shields he usually produced. 

Without his wings, he’d had a lot of time to practice making things with his magic. A lot of time to find out just how nimble it could be. Or maybe he was just looking for a way to compensate for what he no longer was. Maybe he was looking for a way to fill that uncertain, shaming gap in him.

He held out the umbrella to Nesta. And when he felt her take the handle, he dared a look over.

She was looking at him as she hoisted the umbrella over her head. She was as beautiful as he remembered but—thinner. Thinner and somehow more hollowed. He swallowed thickly. That was likely his fault. Likely his fault because he’d wanted to be the one to tell her about his wings, and when she’d shown up hours too early for dinner that night—

“Are you happy now?” Nesta said. And he knew it was not just a question.

“Sometimes when I’m training, I feel better, like I’m working toward something. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same kind of happiness I feel when I’m with…” He looked away. “Are you happy?”

Nesta did not answer. Instead she stared at the small plaque in the ground. The one without a name and without any flowers. The one that marked where Cassian and his brothers had buried what was left of his wings. The one that marked the place where Cassian had finally laid to rest what and who he used to be, the part of him that was gone. 

“It’s part of the grieving process,” the healer he’d been speaking with once a week had told him. “It’s part of learning to move forward. We accept the things we cannot change. And then we move forward.”

“No,” Nesta said quietly as she turned and left. “Not at all.”

Cassian watched her until she was out of sight, turning the piece of candy over in his left trouser pocket.

He made sure the umbrella lasted until she reached her door. 

 


	11. Chapter 11

_ Fuck it, _ Nesta thought, as she tossed aside the cup she’d been drinking wine from and brought the bottle to her lips. She took a long sip.

She sat alone on the roof of her building atop a thick blanket in the dark. She curled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she took another sip of wine. 

She looked up at the sky. It would be starting soon.

A chilly, light breeze blew a strand of golden brown hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear. She wore an oversized sweater and a pair of dark leggings. She wrinkled her bare toes into the blanket, maybe she should have worn socks.

She took another sip, thinking about the party in the House of Wind she was missing. She’d not wanted to get all dressed up just to stand on a balcony filled mostly with strangers. And she didn’t want to deal with her everyone playing buffer between her and Cassian. It was better this way. No one would have fun if she were there, and maybe this way _ he’d _ at least have fun.

Maybe he’d find someone to talk to, a female maybe—she took another swig of wine.

A single star vaulted across the sky.

It was silver and gold with a hint of teal. It left a shimmering streak of dust and light in its wake. Nesta laid back, knees pointed up. She knew it was stupid and childish and utterly human—but she made a wish. 

She took another sip of wine and thought about the day her mother died. Thought about the day Feyre had been taken, the day she’d made it to the wall and couldn’t find a way in. She thought about Tomas and the sound her dress made when it had torn, and how she’d wished she could have run to her father for help, for comfort. She thought about the night she’d woken to the sound of wings and fighting. Thought about what it was like to see them drown her sister. Drown her. Then Feyre had left with Tamlin again, and Nesta had known she was lying to protect them, but she’d been unable to do anything. She’d been too scared and useless,  _ so fucking useless _ , and Cassian’s wings—

He’d smiled that day on the roof.

She hadn’t seen that smile since before the war, and he was her mate, and he’d smiled for Azriel— _ for fucking Azriel. _

She took another sip of wine and wiped at her tears. Everyone left her. 

Everyone.

And she hated him. She hated Cassian.

She sat up and buried her head in her knees just as a parade of stars began shooting across the sky. The music began, but Nesta didn’t notice. Her lips and chin trembled as she fought to keep in her tears. 

A sob slipped out. 

She tried to will her walls back into place, to stuff the sadness down, stuff it all down, but she couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t find the way—

The door to the roof opened behind her.

Nesta’s head snapped up. She wiped her face. The wind blew sideways, picking up her hair, and carrying any scent in the wrong direction.

Footsteps, then—

Nesta looked over her shoulder. And regretted it immediately. She looked away as her anger spiked.

“What are you doing here?” she said to Cassian.

He walked to the edge of the blanket. “May I sit?”

She took another swig of wine. “Do whatever you want. You’re good at that.”

Cassian sat on the blanket next to Nesta. He stretched out, leaning back on his hands and crossing one of his ankles over the other. “I suppose I deserve that.”

Nesta snorted. He deserved a lot more than that. She wrapped her arms around her knees and tilted her head to the side so that her hair fell like a shield between them.

“Are you all right?”

“Fuck you,” Nesta said. “Why are you even here?”

“I wanted to say thank you for the flowers.” 

Nesta cringed, she’d forgotten about the forget-me-nots she’d left atop the place where his wings were buried. “A note would have sufficed.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“ _ Why? _ ” she growled, turning to him with all her anger. But it wasn’t just a question. Not to her.

“Because I miss you,” he said.

And something inside Nesta broke. She was sure of it. Because she could feel it like an old wound rend open. And no matter how hard she tried to stuff it down, to close it up, she couldn’t. Not with him. “You don’t get to miss me, Cassian,” she said through fresh tears of hate—or maybe it was love. She didn’t know. Wasn’t sure.

Wasn’t sure because maybe love and hate were not opposites, maybe they were the same emotion. Because maybe you couldn’t hate someone unless you loved them. And she loved Cassian so much…

She took another sip of wine and emptied the bottle. She wiped at her face.

“Why are you crying, Nesta?”

“You know why,” she growled and threw the bottle across the roof. It shattered into a thousand little pieces—glittering and beautiful in the light from the stars. A beautiful mess—that’s what it looked like. But up close it was razor sharp and dangerous and it didn’t want to be picked up or put back together, it wanted to stay on the floor a broken, dangerous thing. She buried her fingers in her hair and pressed her forehead to her knees. 

Cassian reached out to touch her shoulder. Nesta flinched back, nearly falling over.

“Don’t touch me,” she half growled, half sobbed. “You don’t get to touch me. You don’t get to come here and tell me you miss me, Cassian.” The light from the stars glittered in the tears falling down her face like little shards of glass.

She steadied herself then moved forward to bat the hand and arm he was still holding out to her. “You left”—she hit his arm—“you left me.” And the look on his face, the sorry and the hurt and the understanding… 

_ He doesn’t get to look like that, _ Nesta thought.  _ It’s too late. He’s too late. _

She hit him again. 

This time in the shoulder. He didn’t move. Not one inch. Just sat there with a look like he wanted her to hit him, like he knew he deserved it, like he knew this would never be over if Nesta didn’t say all the things she’d kept inside for the last two years. All the things he knew he deserved to hear.

And she was angry and so filled with hate, and he didn’t get to look like that, not now, not after what he did. Not after all this time.

“You were my mate and you left me,” she screamed. She pushed him. “Fuck you, Cassian. I hate you.” She was so close to him now, kneeling next to him, pushing him, breathing in his scent. “I don’t want you, Cassian. I slept with Tarquin, and I don’t want you anymore. I slept with you, and you didn’t want me, and I—” And maybe it was the truth of her words, or the alcohol, or the fight she couldn’t seem to find. Or maybe it was the way the starlight illuminated his ash-brown skin and how badly she wanted to touch it—but she stopped pushing him. Stopped hitting him. Stopped—everything. She fisted her hands in his sweater. “You  _ knew _ . About Tomas”—she sobbed and crawled into his lap, straddling him with a knee on either side—“you knew what it meant to me, and you left. You left me, and I was your mate.” She curled herself into his chest, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. “You didn’t want me. You didn’t want me because no one ever wants me. Everyone always leaves. No one stays.  _ But you were supposed to stay _ . You  _ promised _ to stay.”

Cassian sat forward and wrapped her in his arms. One tightly around her waist, the other around her back so that his hand cradled her head. He held her to him. And Nesta thought she might die from the feel of him against her, the thickness and press of his arms around her.

“ _ I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, _ ” he said through his own tears. He rocked them slowly, unable to pull her close enough. She would never be close enough. He’d always want her closer.

He kissed the side of her head.

“I’m sorry, Nesta, I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I’m sorry— _ fuck _ . Please forgive me, Nesta. Please— _ please _ . I’ll do anything. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’ll fix this. Just tell me how I fix this.”

“I hate you,” she sobbed.

“I know you do. I know.”

“I _ hate  _ you.”

“I shouldn’t have left that night. I shouldn’t have left. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry I left.” He kissed the side of her head again, pressing it to his cheek. Her hair stuck to his lips, to the tears that slipped down his face. Her tears soaked through his shirt. “I love you so much, Nesta. I love you so much, and I just thought that if I stayed— _ fuck _ —I’m an idiot. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“You left me,” she sobbed. “I woke up alone— _ abandoned _ . You abandoned me.”

Cassian was crying in earnest now. His breath was hitching and choking but he said, “I know, I know I did. I’m so sorry. I didn’t meant to hurt you. I was so selfish. I knew, I knew what it meant. I didn’t mean to hurt you—I’d give  _ anything _ not to have hurt you.” Cassian kissed her again and reached out with his magic to caress that bond between them. He was gentle and loving and—

“DON’T,” Nesta said, pulling back to look at him. She was ready to scream, to rage, to say anything she could think to hurt him, but his eyes… 

She saw it. The thing she’d been looking for the night he’d left. It was there, in his eyes, glowing and sparkling with the stars above.

A strangled sob made it’s way up her throat.

She lifted her hands to his face, running them through the hair around his ears, tucking it back. She watched him cry. And he let her.

“You smiled,” she said too quiety, brokenly. “For them, you smiled.”

“I lost my wings”—his chin hit his chest—“and then I lost you.”

And all at once Nesta realized that this male, her mate, was five hundred years old. He’d lived for five hundred years thinking he was only as good as a bastard-born nobody, only as good as his wings and his magic and the life he could lay down for his High Lord.

And then he’d been given a mate. And then he’d lost his wings.

Five hundred years he’d lived… and she was barely over twenty.

She tilted his face up so that she could see his eyes. They were sad and lonely and devastated. But behind it all, she could see it—feel it. He loved her. He loved her and he wanted her. Wanted to keep her. Because she was his to keep. They were each others to keep.

“I didn’t stop smiling because of you,” he said. “You were the dawn, the sun, after centuries of darkness, and I couldn’t—” She kissed him.

Cassian went still. Held his breath. Did not dare to even think as Nesta’s mouth gently pressed against his. His hands were on her shoulders. She pulled away, leaned back.

For a moment, neither moved. Tears sparkling under the vaulting stars, like the shards of broken bottle in the corner.

Nesta sent a teaspoon of warmth and light and love down the bond between them.

Cassian’s expression melted from shock to awe and then—he smiled. 

He smiled and it reached his eyes.

“There you are,” Nesta whispered. And whatever composure she might have had fell apart. She threw herself around him and he pulled her to him as if he might never let go. And she knew he never would. Not really. 

“ _ Nesta, Nesta, Nesta, _ ” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“I know,” she reassured. “It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

“You’re mine,” he sobbed, but it sounded like a question. Like something he couldn’t comprehend. Like something that shouldn’t be true, but was.

And Nesta did not know what to say, could not find words to ease that pain or take it away. So she didn’t. Instead she let him pull on the bond between them, matching each of his pulls with one of her own. A tug of reassurance that someone was there at the other end. That she was at the other end and always would be.

Sometime later, they laid next to one another atop the blanket, watching the stars. Cassian kept Nesta tucked into his shoulder, she kept him wrapped in one of her arms.

They watched as stars danced across the sky.

“I didn’t sleep with Tarquin,” Nesta said.

Cassian squeezed her shoulder. “I know. But I’d have no opinion if you had. With anyone.”

“Did you?”

“No.” He kissed the top of her head. He was warm next to her, and so much bigger than she remembered. He traced the bones of her spine through her sweater, walking his fingers up each notch, then down, then up, then down.

“There are people who think we slept together,” Nesta said. “People who, at least for the foreseeable future, need to keep thinking that.” Because as progressive as the world was becoming, there had never been two High Lords in love. And so soon after the war… 

“My people need to feel safe first,” Tarquin had told her the night he’d escorted her to his room. “I want my people to feel safe again before the question and uncertainty of merging courts can even be suggested to them.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Nesta had said, from her seat by the fire.

“So have you.”

She’d shrugged and said, “It’s not everyday a High Lord asks your sister to ask you if he can exploit your personal problems to avoid all out chaos.”

Tarquin had laughed and said, “They really do tell each other everything don’t they?” Nesta had rolled her eyes and gone into the detail about the kinds of things Elain and Lucien told one another.

A chilly wind blew, and Cassian tightened his hold on her. “I don’t care if people think you were involved with Tarquin,” he said. “He is your friend, he’s our friend, and I’m fine with you doing whatever you need to do to help him and Lucien.”

“I missed you,” she said quietly.

“I missed you, too.”

When the stars had stopped migrating, when the sky was dark and clear, when Nesta slept soundlessly in his arms, Cassian wrapped her in the blanket and carried her back to her apartment. He laid her down in her bed, and because didn’t want her to wake up alone ever again, he crawled in beside her. 


	12. Chapter 12

Cassian still wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. Still wasn’t sure if he’d woken up in Nesta Archeron’s bed after she’d kissed him on the roof. He’d been awake for a half hour, and he hadn’t dared move for fear that he’d break whatever illusion this might be.

But it wasn’t an illusion, and it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And he knew it was real because he was going to piss himself, and no one pissed themselves in their dreams—well, children, but he was not a child.

He thought about getting up to relieve himself. Thought about how close the bathroom was, how he could leave the door open, and she’d be able to see and hear him if she woke up.

But Cassian did not want Nesta to wake up in an empty bed. Not again. Not ever again. Sure they’d talked about it, she’d said what she’d needed to say, but that wasn’t a wound that would close overnight. There was no trust between them. He needed to earn her trust.

“Think of her trust like the money in your coffers,” the healer he’d been talking to once a week had said. “Before you left, your trust-coffers were full. She had no reason not to trust you. But then you left, so she may not trust you not to leave again. Therefore, your trust-coffers are empty. You have to build them back up. And they might never get back to where they were, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

He doubted Nesta trusted him not to leave again. And he wasn’t sure how long it would take to heal that part of their relationship, but he was willing to do whatever was necessary and to wait however long it might take.

So he laid next to his mate, watching her sleep and fiddling with the small candy in his pocket. The one he’d been carrying for months.

Finally she stirred. Her eyelashes bobbed a few times, then opened fully. She looked at him. And for a moment, Cassian wasn’t sure she wasn’t about to kick him out. 

She sat up. A muscle in her cheek twitched.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting up, too. She looked at him—next to her but under a different blanket. She looked at herself, still swaddled in the blanket from the roof. “I hope you don’t mind that I slept here,” he said very, very carefully. 

She glanced away, at the clock on the wall maybe. 

“You stayed,” she said. 

And Cassian felt a flood of pain down the bond. It was there and gone in an instant as she hauled it back in. Pushed it down, down, down—

“Don’t,” he said. He turned her face to his with a finger under her chin. “You don’t have to hide.” She searched his eyes with her own, his face, his hair—a small smile curled a corner of her mouth. She fought to keep it contained, but he saw it. “What?”

She pressed her lips together as the smile broke over her face. “Your hair looks ridiculous.”

Smiling, Cassian swooped in and kissed her cheek then he darted to the bathroom. Nesta blushed and wiped her face, watching him the whole time. Cassian laughed at his reflection. He did look ridiculous. He fixed his hair and saw to his needs, then gave Nesta the bathroom. 

When she opened the door, she handed him a spare toothbrush. She was already brushing her teeth. He took it and squeezed inside the tiny room to brush next to her. He didn’t know how she managed with such a small bathroom. He wasn’t even sure he would fit in the shower. 

He also wasn’t sure why we was even thinking about whether or not he’d fit in her shower.

When he was done, he asked if it would be weird if he removed his shirt to wash his face. Nesta moved back into the bedroom and said it was fine. 

He stripped his shirt and bent himself over her tiny, low sink. He tried not to get water everywhere. He was drying his face when Nesta traced a slender finger lightly over one of his scars. 

His shoulder flinched on it’s own. 

Nesta immediately retracted her hand. She stared at him, a bit wide eyed, in the mirror. “Did I hurt you?” she breathed.

“No,” he said. “It just feels… odd.” He angled himself so that she could see his back more clearly. “No one has ever touched the scars like that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, it’s all right.” He nodded at her in the mirror to let her know it was okay. He watched her face as she reached out again. She ran a finger down the other scar. He tried not to flinch away. It wasn’t unpleasant, it just felt weird, oddly numb but with feeling. He didn’t know how to explain it. They just felt the way scars do.

Nesta’s throat bobbed. “You should have told me,” she said.

“I know. I wanted to, but… ”

“Was anyone there with you?” Her voice wobbled.

“Yes, Azriel stayed with me. He was there when I woke up.” She traced around the bottom of the right scar, and he couldn’t prevent his body from involuntarily flinching away. She removed her finger and placed her palms alongside the scars. They were slightly longer, and almost as thick as her hands.

She choked on a sob. “I should have been there.” She leaned her forehead between his shoulder blades, between the scars.

Cassian had known that she might grieve his wings. The healer he’d been talking with said it was natural for friends and family to grieve. She’d said it could be especially hard for those he was closest to, like Nesta. Because there were things she lost, too. Yes, the wings were a part of him, they belonged to him, but… there were experiences she’d lost. 

Nesta would never get to run her hands over his wings, to see if she could make him feel good. She’d never get the chance to fly with him, to trust him with her like that. He would never get to swoop in and pick her up, or carry her out over the ocean or across a midnight sky. Those were all moments that had belonged to her just as much as they’d belonged to him.

And she would grieve them just as he would.

“I don’t think I would have wanted you to see me that way.” But because he wanted her to know, needed her to know he said, “You were the first person I thought of when I woke up. I saw Azriel, and I wished he were you.” A few of her tears hit his skin. “Actually, I remember thinking that his shadows looked like your hair”—she snorted—“which is ridiculous because your hair is not black.”

“You did this for me,” she whispered. She opened the bond between them, letting him feel her sadness and regret. “And I should have been there.”

She kissed the left scar.

And then she kissed the right scar.

And it did not feel funny, did not feel numb or weird. It felt right and— _ loved. _

Cassian felt loved.

He turned around and cupped her face in his hands. He wiped her tears.

“I did this because it was time to let go. I did this because my wings were not healing, and I was in constant pain. And because I let those things come between you and I. And you, Nesta Archeron, are worth far more to me than my wings ever were.” He did not realize he was crying until she wiped one of his tears.

“Can you make new ones?” she said. Her breath hitched.

“They weren’t regrowing. The healers said if it hadn’t happened yet then it—”

“No.” She wiped her tears, annoyed by her crying. “Not grow,  _ make _ . With your siphons. Like you did the umbrella.” 

Cassian’s brows pinched. He blinked.

She wiped his tears with her hands. “Cassian?” 

He was staring somewhere in between them. He blinked again.

“Cassian?”

He blinked, and then he was looking at her. Really looking at her. There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, then a smile exploded over his face like wildfire through a dry field.

“You’re a genius,” he said. He kissed her. “My mate is a genius.” He kissed her again, picked her up, then kissed her as he moved them back into the bedroom.

His excitement was contagious, palpable.

Nesta smiled and wrapped her arms and legs around him as he spun her around the room. Over and over and over again he told her she was a genius, that his mate was a genius. And over and over and over again—as if they were a gift for each of his praises—Nesta kissed him.

Finally, he dumped them on the bed.

“It might not work,” he said. “It took me weeks to figure out how to weave the magic to make an umbrella, to get it to last without me having to think about it, or be near it. And wings, they’d have to hold weight and wind, and it might take too much magic.”

“It might,” Nesta said. “But I think you should try.”

“I think I should try, too.”

Nesta relaxed her hold on him. She rubbed at his shoulders, then moved her hands farther back to where his wings would have started. “Does it hurt still?”

“Sometimes,” Cassian said. “Sometimes when the wind blows, or the pressure in the air changes, or when I find myself wanting to jump into the sky for whatever reason… I react, or move, as if they’re still there. And then I realize they’re not.” He shrugged. “That’s when it hurts the most.” He stroked a knuckles down Nesta’s cheek. “But I’m not in pain like I was. There’s no aching, or spasms, or infections.”

“Do you wish there were?”

“No,” he said. And it was the truth. And it was heavy and uplifting and painful and happy all at once. “No, because keeping my wings meant losing you. I would make the same decision every time. They were gone, and you were here. I had to let them go, because you are not something I could ever let go, you are not something I could ever learn to live without.”

Nesta fought her smile. She moved her legs from around him, ready to get up—“What’s in your pocket?”

She sat up as Cassian reached into his trousers. He pulled out the small candy he’d been carrying for months now. He sat up, too. 

“This,” he said, tossing the candy to his other hand. “Is something I picked up at the healer’s office the first time I went to speak with her.” He held it out to Nesta. She took it from him.

“Didn’t they tell you the candy jar is for the children?”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” He knocked his shoulder into hers.

“Why didn’t you eat it?” Cassian shrugged. Nesta studied the red packaging. “It’s too old to be any good.” She held it back out for him to take.

Cassian’s throat flickered. “Keep it.”

“Why would I want…” She stilled. And Cassian knew she understood. “Oh.  _ Oh _ .” 

He braced himself. He knew it might be too soon. Knew there were things that would always stain, or scar, the bond between them. But stains and scars didn’t always mean things were ruined. Sometimes it meant that things had been loved. Sometimes it meant that there had been a mess, or an accident, but that it had been cleaned up and cared for. 

Scars were left from the wounds that had healed, and stains were visible on the things we loved too much to replace.

Nesta walked to a small shelf across the room. And set the candy by a single dried flower and a small painting of a foxglove on a piece of wood that belonged to an old table, in an old cabin, that had been lost to time and to the forest.

She walked back to Cassian and held out her hand. “Come,” she said. “I don’t know how to cook, but I can assemble things.”

Cassian smiled and took his mates hand. He followed her into the small kitchen, where he showed her what  _ he’d _ kept from an old kitchen, in an old home, that had not been lost to time and to the mountains, but had been remembered for it’s love and warmth by three brothers who’d hated one another so much, they’d die for one another.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm PropShopHannah on Tumblr.


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